


"No, stop!"

by maqcy



Series: Whumptober 2018 [4]
Category: Altered Carbon (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Altered Carbon Fusion, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bay City, Companions, Day 4, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Immortals, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Neglect, Non-Sexual Slavery, One Shot, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slavery, Sleeves, Sort Of, Whumptober, meths, resleeving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 05:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16190984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy
Summary: Matthias is almost two hundred years old, but he's spent most of his life alone. Sol is a sleeve-slave previously owned by Laurens Bancroft. Matthias goes looking for someone to share his home with and Sol catches his eye.





	"No, stop!"

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober day 4 and this one has two original main characters within the universe of Altered Carbon, which is a fantastic show and totally didn't make me cry at all.   
> The first part is from Sol's perspective and set a few years before the second part, in Matthias' perspective.  
> Hope you enjoy!

_Sol_

“Asset is waking up now, sir.”

Sol woke to bright lights and a cold floor. He tried to sit up only for his stomach to roll with nausea and he tilted sideways to be sick on the floor, retching up brown-grey gunk onto white tiles.

A door slid open on the other side of the room with a hiss of air and Sol looked up. He felt… odd. Something metal clacked as he shifted away from where he’d thrown up and he realised that his wrists were bound, as were his ankles, and a chain connected them both. Sol stared at them, wondering whether he’d served his prison time, or if he’d been spun up in the middle of it for some reason.

Two men came in through the opened door, one in a smart but standard-looking grey suit, the other in a sleek embroidered one; pale purple dragons on a forest-green background.

“Look at you,” the man in the expensive suit said. His eyes roamed Sol’s body in a proprietary manner, hungrily even. He looked coldly delighted. His eyes came up to meet Sol’s and Sol was graced with a tight smile that went nowhere near the man’s eyes.

“Who are you?” Sol said warily. “Where am I?” His voice sounded different, lower, and Sol figured he’d been resleeved. Looking down at himself, he seemed bigger than before, considerably, and he was definitely male. His hands looked huge and oddly pale in their hand-cuffs and Sol felt another wave of sickness.

The man’s smile lingered, “I am the city father,” he said, “and the CEO of Bancroft industries and you belong to me.” Sol stared at him. _This_ was Laurens Bancroft? The 365-year-old meth?

“What do you want with me?” Sol said sharply, in that voice that wasn’t his. What the hell did a meth, the original meth, want with a grounder like Sol? “You don’t _own_ me.”

The man, Bancroft if he was to be believed, had stopped smiling. “I do, though,” he said blandly. “You see, you’ve just completed your time, did you know that?” Sol shook his head silently, because Bancroft seemed to be waiting for a response. Sol’s hair was short enough that it didn’t touch his face as he moved his head and he felt somewhat bared without it. “They were going to put you in a washed-up eighty-year-old. A young man like you?” Bancroft smiled his crocodile smile again. “So I did a little intervening on your behalf and,” he gestured elegantly at Sol’s body, whatever it was, “I worked it out so that you’re in _this_ beauty instead. The power of you, just lovely.” Sol could only stare in silence.

There were such things as sleeve-slaves, where a meth might purchase an expensive new sleeve for a groundling and the meth would then effectively own the groundling for a decade or more. But that was usually when the groundling’s sleeve was _dying_ , or they needed a large amount of debts paid off quickly, or else were looking for a short-cut into meth society. It was usually _consensual_.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Sol snapped, “Put me in the eighty-year-old, I don’t care. I’m not _yours_.” Bancroft’s face was a dead thing and Sol met his gaze with anger.

“You’ll do nicely.” Bancroft said, not even pretending to move his face like a person. Sol felt goose bumps rise from his skin; the skin of this sleeve that was enslaved to Bancroft with Sol’s mind inside of it, the sleeve that didn’t fit him right.

Bancroft left with a neat pivot on his heel and the man in the grey suit followed after him without ever saying a word, the door sliding shutting seamlessly behind them. Sol stared at the wall where the door had been, left alone in a silent, white room. It would be two days before Bancroft returned to claim him.

 

*

_Matthias_

The Sleeved-asset Collection Centre, or SCC, was miserable. There was white absolutely everywhere and it made everyone inside look washed out and grey. Matthias felt like he was going a little more insane each second he stayed inside it.

“This one’s a little timid,” The member of staff who was showing Matthias around paused in front of another grey, tiled box which were really nothing but large cages. “But very sweet. Excellent head for numbers. Owned by Greeta Yonic, excellent member of society like yourself, sir, perhaps you’re aqu-” they broke off when they realised that Matthias had walked on and Matthias heard hurried footsteps behind him as they quickly caught up.

“Sir,” they said, “might I enquire what _kind_ of asset you were looking for today. I understand that you stated you were ‘open-minded’ on your form but any parameters or requests you might have would…”

“I’ll know when I see them, I suppose.” Matthias said, and continued to look into each of the containers through the plexi-glass windows. The assets all had things in there with them: books, a feed screen projected on the wall, painting materials. Demonstrating their skills, or just to keep them from going mad. But they all looked content enough and Matthias didn’t know what he could offer them, with his barren, dull life. He wasn’t quite sure why he was here, exactly, except that he’d seen an advertisement for a ‘ _companion_ ’ and the thought of not being alone in his flat above Bay City had lodged in his brain and refused to leave.

“Sir,” said the staff member, who had introduced themselves as Williams, “we’re approaching some of lower level assets down this way, perhaps I could take you somewhere else, with assets more suitable to your means?”

“No, I think I would like to continue down here, thank you,” Matthias said.

“Oh, ah, of course, sir,” they said awkwardly, shadowing Matthias. Matthias paused in front of one of the last containers, which was empty, and then began slowly to walk back down again. The person alongside him visibly perked up at the prospect of going back towards the more expensive assets. No doubt they work on commission, Matthias thought. But Matthias, idly glancing into the containers, halted in front of one he hadn’t noticed when he first went past.

There was a man curled up on the floor with his back to the viewing window, and even lying as he was, and seeming to be trying to take up the least space possible, Matthias could see that he was a big man. Matthias couldn’t guess at his height but he was sure the asset was substantially taller than Matthias’ 6’1 and greatly more powerful too, judging by his wide shoulders.

“Oh sir,” Williams beside him said, “please allow me to advise you that this asset is greatly below your notice. He is very violent, a clumsy thing and not at all trained in a manner that would-”

“Please show me his stats.” Matthias said bluntly. He had always been perverse in that being told he ought not to be interested tended to make him doubly as interested as he was previously, even if the word ‘violent’ made him cautious.

“Of course, sir.” It was a grudging response but they brought up the asset’s stats on the wall under the viewing window and Matthias scanned them. There was a red banner at the bottom that read ‘PENDING FINAL ASSESSMENT’ and whatever that meant, it didn’t sound positive.

“His previous owner was _Bancroft_?” Matthias said, astonished, “I don’t understand, why aren’t you parading this one at the front of the line?” The SCC was always thrilled to get a cast off from any famous or semi-famous meth and Bancroft was, well, _Bancroft_.

Williams shifted nervously, “The asset is simply not _functional_ , sir,” they said, “He would not be a credit to the SCC or its esteemed patrons. Such an asset would be an embarrassment, sir.”

Matthias lifted an eyebrow. He’d heard rumours about Bancroft’s…tastes, but he’d thought they’d drifted towards women, women he’d pay not to tell when he brutalised them. Not sleeve-slaves, who everyone knew couldn’t say ‘no’. Matthias swallowed, frowning at the man on the floor.

“Open the door, please,” he said.

“Oh but Mr. Fyre, please allow me to advise against-”

“The door,” Matthias repeated calmly, “Please.”

“Of- of course.” They fumbled with the door latch and then it slid open. Williams’ hand dropped to the stun stick they carried at their waist and Matthias shot them a pointed look, before he turned back to the asset against the back wall. He was shaking slightly and Matthias realised the air in here was marginally but noticeably colder than the hallway, and Matthias was wearing a suit where the man was dressed only in the SCC’s standard-issue uniform, which was meant to be half-translucent so that the assets’ bodies were on display.

The SCC talked about their assets as being high quality assistants, carers and companions, but in reality they were cast-offs from meths who had gotten tired of their sleeve-slaves before the due-date on their time was up. So meths passed them off to the SCC who ‘rehomed’ them, selling them off like chattel, for the remainder of their agreed time. It was immoral and barely legal and Matthias found it all very distasteful, and yet here he was.

“Why is it so cold?” Matthias asked.

“I am not sure I noticed any change, sir,” the staff member said. Matthias didn’t believe them at all.

Matthias focused his attention on the man on the floor, who had uncurled somewhat but still lay on his side, “Would you like to turn around?” he said gently. “I shan’t hurt you.” The man said nothing and did nothing. “What’s your name?” Matthias asked. There was silence, except for the man’s breathing.

Williams moved off the Matthias’s left and there was an abrupt crack as they fully extended their stun stick. A threat. The man on the floor flinched with his whole body, and Matthias turned to Williams angrily.

“Put that _away_ ,” he said. Williams looked stricken and fumbled to put the weapon away.

“My apologies, sir, I only thought-”

“I’m afraid you thought wrong,” Matthias said, perhaps too harshly.

The man on the floor slowly, stiffly, came up to sitting, turning around. His face was sharp with not enough food and there was a wildness in his eyes that made Matthias want to step back, even as the man’s hands were bound in metal restraints. He was also unshaven and there was a slight smell of body odour that told Matthias the SCC had been neglecting him. The other assets were all tended to with such precision that they looked like they were ready to go on the evening newsfeeds, but this one had clearly been left at the end of the corridor to rot.

The man narrowed his eyes at Matthias, his gaze flicking over Matthias’ sleeve. It was one Matthias was fond of and he’d had it for three quarters of his life, in three different clones. A hundred-and-fifty-years, almost, he’d worn this body and grown older in it. He currently looked around twenty-five though the sleeve was actually thirty-two. Matthias just looked after it – himself – well.

Matthias came very slowly forwards, putting his hands out palm-first, non-threatening.

The asset allowed him to get within a couple of meters of him before he spoke, “Stay _away_ from me.” The voice was low and harsh, like his throat was dry or he hadn’t spoken in a while.

Matthias immediately stopped where he was and instead crouched down so as not to loom over the man. As large as the asset’s body was, his body language was incredibly defensive and Matthias didn’t wish to spook him.

“Easy,” Matthias said, “I wish you no harm.”

The man glared at him, “ _Liar_ ,” he growled and Matthias blinked.

“Why would I lie?” he said.

The man tensed and Matthias leaned backward slightly, instinctively. “Because that is what you _do_ ,” the man said forcefully.

“Who do you think I am?” Matthias asked quietly, keeping himself still. The man glared at him with such utter loathing, so thick in the air that Matthias as the recipient of it felt guilty, like this man knew of something Matthias had done, even as that was completely irrational.

“The man that’s always changing his skin,” the man said coldly. There was nothing cold about his eyes though: those were fiery with passionate hatred and movement and, behind them, a mind that was churning too fast. Scared.

“I’m not Bancroft,” Matthias said, taking a shot in the dark, “if that is who you are referring to.”

“Bancroft,” the man said, drawing the name out, “ _Bancroft_. No, you’re not Bancroft, the father of the fucking city, you’re the master and owner and fucking _sadist_ that pretends to be Bancroft.”

Matthias stared at him. Behind him, Williams shifted with obvious discomfort. “I understand why you would doubt me,” Matthias said gently. He felt out of his depth here. “But my name is Matthias Fyre and I’ve never met Bancroft. I don’t believe I want to, either.” The man looked at him flatly, clearly not believing a word Matthias said, “What’s your name, little one?”

The man’s expression shifted from hostility to a sort of confusion and stared at Matthias.

“Little one?” he said. Matthias looked back at him. He couldn’t have said why that slipped out, but it fit somehow, despite the man’s physical size. The man in front of him was hunched like he wanted to be half the size he was. Like he was a child.

The softening of the man’s face made Matthias hesitantly hope he’d made a breakthrough and he very slowly extended a hand, perhaps just to connect with him, or to help him to his feet.

But the man reacted violently, throwing himself backwards and to the right rather than trying to attack Matthias in any way, his restraints clinking loudly.

“ **No, stop!** I said don’t _touch_ me!” he yelled, the sound harsh and echoing in the enclosed space. Matthias withdrew his arm quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, feeling slightly sick at the man’s reaction. And the fact that he’d caused it. “That was wrong of me. I will stay over here.” But the man’s eyes were narrowed at him, too sharp with intelligence for someone who had just reacted with such panic.

“You’re sorry?” he repeated.

Matthias inclined his head. _I got that entirely wrong_ , he thought bitterly. “Yes,” he said, trying to mend bridges. “I apologise. I won’t try again.”

“Sir, perhaps-” Williams started behind him but Matthias held up a hand.

“Please don’t interrupt,” he said, “You may wait outside if you wish.”

“Mr. Fyre!” Williams hissed urgently, “He is dangerous and you are unarmed, sir!”

Matthias turned to look at them and then shook his head. “Then stay as you please,” he said blandly.

The man was watching him silently, his eyes more focused than they had been.

“Bancroft never apologises,” he said, very clearly, staring at Matthias. “Not to _anyone_.” Matthias steadily met the other man’s gaze but stayed silent. It sounded like the man was coming around to the idea that Matthias wasn’t Bancroft. The man’s brows drew together and he put his bound hands over his knees. “Who did you say you were?” he asked after a pause.

“Matthias Fyre.” Matthias said, trying to make his body language as non-threatening as possible. The man’s eyes drifted away from Matthias’s face like he was trying to place the name, then they snapped back.

“That’s Enid Fyre’s son,” he said abruptly. “The one who doesn’t attend parties.”

Matthias quirked a small smile. “Yes,” he said, “my mother calls me her hermit child.”

“Hermit?” the man said, seeming not to know what the word meant.

“How about an answer for an answer?” Matthias responded hesitantly, “Perhaps you could tell me your name?”

The man looked at him sullenly. “Bancroft calls me ‘Joshua’,” he said.

Matthias looked at him solemnly. “But what is your name?” He asked. Bancroft saying something was so didn’t make it so. Well, not always.

There was a brief silence. “Sol,” he said, looking at the floor. “A useless, meaningless, grounder name,” he continued, obviously parroting Bancroft, judging by the pure hatred in his tone, “But it is _mine_.” The last words were fierce, possessive and demanding. Exactly like one might be about something precious that had been taken from them and they were only just seizing back again.

“It is indeed,” Matthias said mildly. “And it isn’t meaningless. Sol means ‘sun’, in the language of one of the most ancient civilisations.”

The man, Sol, frowned at him. “It does?” he said. And then his face relaxed a little. It wasn’t a smile but it was certainly less unhappy than before.

“And in answer to your question,” Matthias said, “A hermit is someone who secludes themselves away. Who lives permanently alone. I believe the term was once religious, but now it just means…someone who chooses solitude over society.”

Sol looked at him with such intensity that Matthias felt a little uncomfortable, and then Sol was looking away, shifting his gaze sideways.

“What do you want?” Sol said.

Matthias looked at the young, terrified, out-of-place man and thought that maybe he could do some good for once in his long, pointless life. “I would like you to come home with me,” he said. Williams fidgeted off to the side like they had some very strong objections but Matthias didn’t look at them and since they’d already been asked not to interrupt, they stayed quiet, for which Matthias was glad.

“Why?” Sol hissed.

“I would be unhappy to leave you here,” Matthias said, twitching his hand vaguely at the bleak room, and the SCC in general, “and I think you might find living with me a little better.”

Sol frowned at him, “I don’t have a choice,” he said, staring at Matthias like he would disappear if Sol looked away. “If you pick me, I cannot refuse.” Sol seemed to be testing the ground between them, seeing what Matthias would allow.

“I know,” Matthias said. “I,” he paused, and frowned at the tiled floor, “I would be very dissatisfied if I had to leave you here, and I would probably return to try to convince you otherwise. But, if you say ‘no’, Sol, I will not take you with me against your will, that I promise you.”

Sol’s face was split between desire and fear, Matthias could see it written in his conflicted features.

“I want to see some ID,” Sol said, quietly. He licked his lips. “Please.”

 _He’s nervous when asking for something_ , Matthias noted silently as he tapped his wrist and his ID came up, blue and translucent. He pushed at the image gently and it moved in the air to be closer to Sol. Sol squinted at it like his eyesight wasn’t quite right and Matthias raised his brows at that. Usually laser surgery was used to correct such sleeve defects immediately, but perhaps Bancroft hadn’t bothered. Perhaps he’d wanted Sol to have a reduced ability to discern what was happening around him.

“You’re over two hundred,” Sol said, and then corrected himself, “No, slightly under.”

“I am,” Matthias said. He cocked his head at Sol, “And how old are you, hm?” Sol seemed fairly young, perhaps only resleeved once or twice, but there was also a weariness to him that only came from age, or so it did in Matthias’s experience. So, seventy perhaps.

“Twenty,” Sol said evenly, still looking at the ID, like it wasn’t a horrendous thing to say.

“What?” Matthias blanched, coming sharply to his feet. Sol flinched and Matthias held himself still even as he wanted to pace. “You _cannot_ be,” he said. Sol looked up to meet his eyes from under heavy brows. Sol’s sleeve was easily into its late twenties. _Twenty_? _He’s at the SCC and in a contract as a sleeve-slave and he’s_ twenty _?_ Matthias was horrified.

“He’s not,” Williams interrupted smoothly, “The asset is playing on your protective instincts, sir, which are admirable, but the man is in his late-fifties, if memory serves-”

“ _I’m not lying_!” Sol said suddenly, “I am _not_.” Matthias blinked at him.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. He turned to Williams, “That is very illegal,” he said. Williams eyes were wide, his hands placating.

“Sir, please do not allow your better nature to overcome logic in this-”

“I don’t want to leave you here, Sol,” Matthias said firmly, opting to ignore Williams, who wisely fell silent.

Sol looked up at him, Matthias’s ID still hovering near him. Sol came slowly to his feet and Matthias had the bizarre sensation of being both intimidated by Sol’s sheer _size_ , and being almost absolutely certain that Sol wouldn’t harm him. But his sleeve was so tall, at least 6’5, and he had hands big enough to encompass a human head, hands that could kill. To put a child (and if Sol was telling the truth then he would have been legally a child when Bancroft resleeved him into this brute) inside of such a body was awful. A child in a place like this.

Sol’s shoulders were hunched and when he pushed Matthias’s ID back to him, he seemed shrunken, trying to fold his limbs into a smaller configuration.

“Thank you,” Matthias said as he turned his ID off. “Do you need time to consider my offer?” he asked reluctantly. He didn’t want to push Sol into an agreement he’d later regret, but he also hated the thought of leaving Sol here in this too-cold, barren cell.

“No,” Sol said and Matthias’s gut tightened in anticipation of refusal. Sol had no reason to trust him, of course, but he’d hoped- “I accept your offer.”

“You do?” Matthias said, greatly relieved. Sol nodded once, definite. “Lovely,” Matthias murmured and gave Sol a reassuring smile, or at least he hoped it was. Sol just looked back at him and Matthias swallowed before forcing himself to turn away to Williams.

“I expect there is a contract of some kind?” he prompted, “If you would be so kind as to make the arrangements.”

Williams looked horrified at the direction things had taken but they nodded and gestured for Matthias to leave ahead of him. Matthias looked back at Sol.

“I hope to see you shortly, Sol,” he said. “But I will not be angry if you change your mind.”

“I don’t think I will,” Sol said simply, and Matthias headed outside, feeling oddly discombobulated as Williams led him down the corridor. He felt lighter at the prospect of getting Sol out of here, but the information he’d garnered was leaden his mind. He pulled himself back together in order to go through the procedures that Williams directed him through, all the while trying to coax Matthias into a different, more ‘suitable’ choice. Matthias kept his temper and politely declined every time. _Manners cost nothing_ , his parents had frequently reminded him. It was one of their few sustained attempts at parenting and, oddly enough, the habit had stuck with Matthias to now, almost two centuries later.

Finally, with Williams despairing, Matthias put the payment through and Williams summoned a bleak smile.

“Congratulations on your new asset, sir,” they said weakly, “I hope you are very happy with your new acquisition.”

Matthias smiled genuinely, “I’m sure I shall be, thank you,” he paused, “Now, about Sol’s age,” Williams visibly tensed and Matthias thought, _you are a terrible liar_ , as he said, “I will not be making any problems for you and SCC as long as I find your company very amenable to me in the future. And I mean full, eager, prompt cooperation.” Williams looked half-terrified and half like they wanted to pull out a notepad to write down Matthias’s orders verbatim, “Are we clear?” he said. Williams nodded quickly.

“I maintain that the asset is telling a falsehood, sir,” they said, but quickly rushed on upon seeing Matthias’s expression, “or is confused, perhaps, but of course, _every_ possible effort will be made to accommodate you.”

“Excellent,” Matthias said, “You may start now because I would like to be present when you are transferring Sol.”

“Of course, sir, as you wish.” Williams said quickly and two nameless employees were picked up as Williams led the way back to Sol’s room, if it could be called such.

A very small smile twitched at Sol’s mouth when he saw Matthias and Matthias smiled back warmly. There was something almost _sweet_ about Sol, under all the broken defensiveness and it made Matthias want to hold him close. Whatever damage that fucker Bancroft had done, Matthias wanted to fix it. For the moment, though, he contented himself with taking Sol home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Penny for your thoughts?


End file.
